Dragonborn Begins: The Ballad of Bjorn the Swordsmith
by Henry Spencer
Summary: This is the origin story for my "canon" Dragonborn Bjorn the Swordsmith, a male Nord barbarian and bard who grew up in Hammerfell. The characters in this story are all my original characters(except Alduin who is described, but not mentioned by name. Other Bethesda characters including Elenwen and Erikur may be involved in the story later on as well).
1. A Legend is Born

**Notes on this chapter: This part of the story focuses on Bjorn's childhood and early adolescence. His parents are fugitives of the Dominion and have fled to Hammerfell to escape persecution and to settle down to a quieter lifestyle. Bjorn learns how to be a blacksmith from his father, and about music, literature, and history from his mother. He also develops a bond with a local Redguard girl named Amirah. The Thalmor has no official presence in Hammerfell, but they have hired spies and bandits to do their dirty work. This is only part one of Bjorn's story. There is more to come!**

Bjorn was raised in the Dragontail Mountains of Hammerfell. His parents Freya and Gunther were owners of a weapon and armor shop called "Hammer and Anvil "on the outskirts of Dragonstar in a wooden house that they had built themselves. Gunther was not a typical Nord blacksmith. His work took influence from Akaviri, Dwarven and Orcish craftsmanship. While Redguards were noted for their Scimitars, they did not have their own distinct armor sets. They appreciated Gunther's work as they usually would wear armor from various cultures anyway. He would get a lot of wealthy customers from Dragonstar and the other nearby settlements because of this.

Freya and Gunther were originally from Skyrim. They had become fugitives of the Aldmeri Dominion for being outspoken against them and for helping many former Blades and other Thalmor enemies seek refuge after the Great War.

The couple fled to Hammerfell to escape persecution and to raise their son in a more secure environment. The Redguard and Nordic cultures had a lot of similarities so the family figured it would not be difficult to adjust. They admired the Redguards for standing their ground as a sovereign state and breaking free from the rule of both the Empire and the Dominion. While Skyrim would always hold a special place in their hearts, they were happy to call Hammerfell their new home.

Though they lived outside any major settlement, the family was far from lonely. The house was made whole through the love Freya and Gunther had for both their son, and for each other. People enjoyed visiting with them, they were drawn in by Gunther's great sense of humor and infectious laugh and Freya's talent for storytelling and singing. The couple would share mead with many guests as Freya would tell tales of their days together in the Legion and Gunther would tell jokes that could get even the most serious characters to crack a smile.

Bjorn's earliest memories were of watching his father work the forge. He was too young to understand what a forge was or what he was doing, yet he was still mesmerized by it. All that the boy could see was a tall, proud-looking man creating incredible art that looked as if it were from another world. To young Bjorn, he looked like a giant who had been given the forge as a gift from the gods themselves to create these masterworks.

Gunther was a bulky man with a long and bushy red beard. While he had a jovial disposition most of the time, there was a hard shell around him that was difficult to breakthrough. It sometimes seemed as though he used humor to hide the pain that he felt inside. The war had taken its toll on him, he could never fully get over all the bloodshed he had witnessed. The battles outside might have been over, but the battles within were unending. No matter how many years passed, the memories continued to haunt him.

When Bjorn reached the age of four, Gunther began teaching him how to smith. By the age of twelve, he was able to create his own custom armor and weapon sets. Bjorn was raised to view smithing as an art. Just like the bards would compose songs, every weapon and set of armor was like a musical piece and even if two smiths worked on the same exact piece it would never come out quite the same.

Bjorn was very educated for his age thanks to his mother Freya and her knowledge of history and literature that she had gained during her time as a traveling bard. She did not only teach him their own people's past but about other race's accomplishments as well.

"We Nords should take pride in our heritage," she told him, "But that doesn't mean we can't respect other cultures, and embrace each other's differences. I feel blessed by the Gods to live in a world of such variety and with such rich histories of different people."

Freya also taught Bjorn a thing or two about playing music. She would teach him to play many of the old Nordic classics on the lute. He never felt quite satisfied with his playing and never felt he played quite as well as her. He often wanted to give up playing because of this, but Freya wouldn't let him and insisted he keep trying.

"You have a great talent, Bjorn. I can see it. If you only believe in yourself you'll be able to play better than me one day."

She let him keep the lute that had belonged to her since she was a young girl growing up in Skyrim."

These stories and songs," Freya told her son, "They have been with our people for generations. Now it is you who will pass them down to the next ones."

"Thanks," said Bjorn, not sure whether he was worthy of this honor.

Freya patted him on the back and smiled."Perhaps you'll write songs about your own adventures one day," she told him, "or maybe someone will write a song about you."

"I don't think I want to adventure mother. I want to stay here with you and papa. I like it here. I wish I could stay here forever."

Freya was touched by what young Bjorn had said and began to tear in her eye, "You most certainly can Bjorn. But as you get older you'll want your own life. Your father and I will always be here for you though. You can always count on that."

Freya was quite a bit shorter than your average Nord, but it was easy not to notice when you saw how skilled a warrior she was. Though she appeared hardened by the harshness of the world around her, she had a vivacious spirit and was highly compassionate and empathetic. She had long, blonde braided hair and soulful eyes that looked as if they carried the wisdom of all existence. She could read anyone like a book and tell their worth just by looking at them.

Gunther knew he loved Freya the moment that he laid eyes on her. He was shy to tell her upfront how he felt, so he decided to put it into writing instead. Gunther was no bard like Freya, but he managed to write a poem that impressed her. Freya told Gunther that she felt the same way and the two of them decided they would get married after the war.

While Gunther and Freya were both adventurers in their younger years, they decided to settle down to a quieter lifestyle after the war. Living in the wilderness outside Dragonstar allowed them to stay away from the chaos of city life while not being completely isolated from civilization.

Gunther had his forge out on the porch. He loved working outside. While he was more introverted than Freya, he enjoyed talking with travelers who passed by the shop and hearing their stories.

One frequent passerby was a Crown noble and Great War hero named Umar. He appeared dignified, yet had eyes filled with sorrow and mistrust. He had short black hair and a goatee that was tied in braids at the bottom. He wore expensive-looking clothes and had the physique of a strong warrior.

Umar first came to the shop to warn Freya and Gunther about stealing business from local Redguard blacksmiths. He claimed he had friends who were concerned about more competition in the area, especially from foreigners. However, as time went on Umar grew to respect the couple and while they didn't get off to a good start, they eventually got along fine. Umar decided that some new friendly competition in the area was healthy for local businesses, and he convinced the other shopkeepers to feel the same way.

While the Crowns were generally xenophobic, they preferred to have Nords in the area over elves. They weren't too disappointed in the family's presence as long as they worked hard and contributed to the community.

Umar had a daughter about Bjorn's age who would regularly pass by the shop. Sometimes she'd be by herself, collecting alchemy ingredients. Other times she'd be with her friends laughing and having fun.

The girl had dark olive skin and long, black frizzy hair that went past her shoulders. She dressed classily and wore fancy dresses though she did not always seem comfortable in them. She had wide, captivating eyes and would often smirk as if she had her own private joke. She gave off the vibe that she was wise beyond her years, yet she also had a sense of playfulness about her.

Bjorn thought she was as beautiful as a Yokudan goddess. She'd smile and wave at Bjorn many times and he'd wave back, but that was as far as their interactions went for a long time. He never got the opportunity to introduce himself to her since he usually was busy working at the forge whenever she was nearby. One day, she took the initiative and approached him instead. She sneaked up on Bjorn when he was busy hammering away and poked him from behind.

"What the…. Hey! You startled me! What in Oblivion is wrong with you?" He cried.

The young girl started laughing. Bjorn didn't seem quite as amused.

"Oh you think that's funny do you?" asked Bjorn rhetorically, "Do you know what kind of tools I'm working with here? I could have seriously hurt you!"

"Oh come on, "she said, "Lighten up, will you? You had such a serious look on your face I had to try and brighten your mood somehow."

"I was actually enjoying myself."

"Yeah I could tell," she said sarcastically.

"I mean that sincerely," said Bjorn indignantly, "Some of my happiest moments are at the forge. Smithing is my passion. It's what I love. I hope that when I'm older I'll be as fine of smith as my father."

"Don't you ever like to take a break, though? Every time I've seen you you're working over there. It doesn't seem like you ever have any fun."

Bjorn shrugged and turned back to his work. He was pretending he didn't like her.

"I mean don't you have any friends or any other hobbies? Doesn't it get lonely?"

" I don't know. I play the lute," Bjorn finally said, "What difference does it make to you?"

"Just making conversation."

"Ok well, I have a lot of work to do. So if you're going to stay here at least make yourself useful and hand me that iron ingot over there."

The girl folded her arms, "Get it yourself, I'm not your servant."

"Fine I will, "said Bjorn, grabbing the ingot without even looking at her.

"You know I'm surprised you're being this cold to me. Many times when I've passed by here, I've seen you making eyes at me."

Bjorn dropped his hammer out of nervousness. The girl giggled."I don't know what you're talking about. We're neighbors, I was being friendly. I wasn't making eyes at you.""

"Of course not. Well anyway, I'll let you get back to work." She chuckled.

The girl began to walk away.

"Wait a minute," Bjorn called after her, "perhaps we can talk more sometime when I am less busy."

The girl turned around and smiled, "Sure, I'd like that.  
"Maybe we can spend the day in Dragonstar. I've only been there a few times but I love it. It has some similarities to Skyrim."

The girl laughed, "What do you mean you've only been there a few times? You live right near it. You're practically a local yourself."

"What can I say? I guess I need to get out more. Like you said."

"Well I've lived in Dragonstar my whole life and it's great. I'd love to show you around. How about tomorrow evening?"

"That would be perfect," Bjorn smiled, "By the way, I don't think we've been properly introduced. My name is Bjorn. What's yours?"

"Amirah. My name's Amirah. Nice to meet you, Bjorn."

The girl walked off. Gunther came back to the forge to check on Bjorn's progress.  
"How's the armor coming along?"

"It's getting there."

"Getting there? If you weren't wasting time chatting, it'd be finished by now."

"Sorry about that. I told her I was working but she wouldn't listen."

Gunther laughed, "I'm messing with you. It was nice to see you talking with a pretty girl. If I were a young man I'd be distracted by her too."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't get a good look at her. I didn't notice."

"Can't fool me, boy. Sure you noticed, you're getting to be that age now. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Well, I suppose she was nice. But she's just a friend. Nothing more."

"Friends are nice, you could use a few of those,"

Gunther looked as if he was reflecting on something and smiled to himself. He then said to Bjorn, "you know your mother used to talk to me when I was at the forge back when we first met. Never would have guessed a woman like her would take a liking to me. But I guess stranger things have happened."

Bjorn looked up at Gunther, "you think she likes me?"

Gunther's eyes widened up as if he had just drifted off and caught himself, "What? Ah I don't know. Maybe. Who knows? Maybe she just enjoys bugging you."

Bjorn smiled at that joke.

"Ah good! You smiled! That's good for you! Always so serious all the time. Anyway, let's get back to work."

The next evening Bjorn and Amirah met up in Dragonstar as they had planned. They stood looking at the iconic dragon fountain in the center of town. On top of the fountain was a bust of two dragon heads placed back to back and facing opposite directions. They were black with red eyes and looked as if they were scolding anyone who came near them. Bjorn seemed hypnotized by it.

"You alright?" Amirah was becoming concerned about his fascination with this artifact.

Bjorn didn't respond. He was glaring at the statue as if it had put him under some sort of spell.

"I've had dreams of a dragon that looks kind of like this, "he finally said "Only the one in my dreams is more menacing. He looks at me as if he knows me, as if he's been expecting me."

Amirah sighed, "It's just a dream," she reassured him, "That's all it is. The dragons have been gone for centuries."

"Maybe. But something about it feels real. Like it's not just a dream, but this creature trying to reach me through another realm."

Amirah shrugged, "Who knows what it could mean. I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"What about you, Amirah? You ever have a dream like that?"  
"About dragons?"  
"No, I mean one that impacts you so much, it feels like it's trying to tell you something."

"Well, yes actually. I wouldn't say they're trying to tell me something, but I have had dreams that feel very real. I'd rather not talk about them though."

"Don't be silly, Amirah. You can tell me anything."

"Well I told you before that my mother died when I was just a young girl, only 4 years old."

"Yes of course. I know. I'm sorry you went through that. I can't even imagine what that was like for you."  
A look of despair came across Amirah's face.

"Sometimes I still have dreams of when I saw her die right before my eyes. She was such a kind soul and those elf bastards slaughtered her like it was nothing!"  
Bjorn put his hand on her shoulder. She started to cry.

"My parents made it no secret that they supported an independent Hammerfell. Once the Great War ended the Redguards resisted for another five years. And we won! We won our independence from that weak and dying empire and from the wretched Dominion. My father was a warrior, but my mother was more of a diplomat. She wanted our independence to come peacefully, through nonviolent resistance. She had many followers. People looked up to her as a symbol of freedom and rebellion. Her name, Iszara, was fitting. She was named after one of the Crown rebels who tried to fight off Tiber Septim's invading forces in the Second Era. She was very charismatic. She was against what the Thalmor stood for but did not think violence was the answer. 'ideas are our weapon' she'd say. If only she wasn't so foolish."

"I wouldn't say she was foolish, sounds like she wanted a better world. "

"Doesn't sound like you're too familiar with the Thalmor. Everyone knows they can't be reasoned with. But she was an idealist."

"Using violence against those who are violent only creates more violence. It sounds like she had the right idea. We don't defeat our enemies by becoming just like them."

"You wouldn't be saying that if it happened to your parent. All I know is when I'm older I want to kill every last Thalmor there is. My father wants me to settle down when I'm of age and marry a man of noble birth. But I want no part of that. I'm a warrior at heart. My place is on the battlefield, fighting for what's right. I won't rest until every one of those bastards suffers for what they did to her and the rest of my countrymen."

"I have no love for the Thalmor either," said Bjorn, "It was sad having to leave Skyrim at such a young age. The Thalmor wanted my parents executed and the Empire stayed silent. My parents are heroes. They fought and bled for the empire. And that coward of an emperor turned his back on them."

Bjorn took a deep breath to calm down. He was getting very angry. He paused for a moment before he spoke again.

"But violence and hatred doesn't get us anywhere. I know my rage will only cause more problems. Maybe for once, we should give peace a chance."

"My mother thought that way," said Amirah, "and now she's dead. Nirn wasn't made for peacemakers. Anyway, let us talk of more pleasant things. This topic upsets me greatly."

Through talking about more "pleasant topics" Bjorn and Amirah discovered that they both had a love for music and poetry. This helped them bond on a much deeper level.

They met up several times after this to write songs together, and to learn to play traditional Nordic and Yokudan pieces. Amirah was also a dancer and Bjorn would play percussion pieces to go along with her movements. She was especially skilled in ancient Yokudan belly dancing and taught Bjorn how to play some traditional Redguard music. It was mainly percussion based with flute to go along with it at times.

Bjorn and Amirah talked about performing together in inns, but Bjorn insisted that they practiced more first. When it came to music or smithing, Bjorn was a perfectionist. Amirah shared a similar mindset.

The connection they had was unique. They were creators and dreamers in a world full of destroyers. . Bjorn decided that Amirah was much more to him than a good friend. While they were still very young, Bjorn knew what he felt for her was real. He decided to take after his father and wrote a poem to express his feelings for her.

The poem read:

"Amirah, I never told you how I truly feel  
Hiding my feelings is far from ideal  
Love is our connection  
It will give our lives a meaningful direction.  
With our love combined everything is in reach  
Together we can withstand any siege  
The moment I saw you my heart was sold  
I dreamt that together we will grow old  
Being with you makes everything else so futile  
Every night I dream of your smile

Eternal bliss is where I'm bound  
In your arms is where it's found

This poem has come to an end  
Remember that, without you, my heart feels bent"

Though Amirah thought the poem was corny, it still moved her deeply. She kissed him and told him she felt the same way about him.

Umar wasn't too happy about his daughter's relationship with Bjorn. He wanted her to be with her own kind. He didn't take it seriously at first because they were only twelve. However, once Amirah turned fourteen and she was still with Bjorn he became more concerned. She was becoming a young lady and he decided he couldn't let this continue any further. Umar stormed over to the shop to give Bjorn and his parents a piece of his mind.

"I won't allow this! This is unacceptable!" cried Umar.

"I'd say what your daughter has with our son is a beautiful thing," said Freya, "And look how happy they are together. Would you rob your daughter of happiness?"

"I don't need you telling me about my daughter or what she needs," Umar snapped at her, "Hammerfell won't continue to stand on its own against the Dominion if we allow foreigners to come here and take our lifestyle away from us!"

"We fought in the Great War against the Dominion alongside many Redguard brothers and sisters!" cried Freya, "We have the utmost respect for your people! We are not here to change anything about your way of life. We are here to share ours with you! "

"We don't need to share anything," Umar asserted, "We had the empire here for hundreds of years imposing its laws on us. They forced us to join them, to "share" with the rest of the provinces and to not have our own identity and culture. And where did that get us? Nations don't stand strong without a sense of pride and tradition. We can't always welcome outsiders, sometimes we have to look out for ourselves first."

"There's no reason why we can't respect each other's differences and live among each other in peace," argued Gunther, ignoring what Umar had just said, "The Forebears understand that. Why don't you?"

"I don't want to hear about those damn Forebears! I'd see them out of here as well if I had my way. I'm sorry we didn't crush them all in that civil war! They have no right to call themselves Redguards!"

"When I fought in the Great War, I did not see Redguards, Nords or elves. I saw citizens of Tamriel united against a common enemy!" Gunther continued, "If we fight amongst each other we will never see a world free of the Thalmor!"

Umar paused for a moment, "Look, I am aware of your deeds in Skyrim. I know why you came here. Anyone who stands up to the Dominion is worthy of my respect," Umar's tone was now more agreeable, "You obviously are hardworking, law-abiding, and have contributed a lot during your stay here. But there's one thing you need to understand: Hammerfell is for the Redguards. This is our land. We built it. My daughter needs to help carry on her family's legacy, her PEOPLE's legacy and she doesn't need some foreigner distracting her."

Bjorn was sitting in his room listening to this conversation. He was infuriated that he wasn't included in the discussion and at the things Umar was saying. He wasn't going to let this man get in between him and the woman he loved. In his mind he could see the same black dragon with red eyes that he had seen in his visions before. Something dark and powerful came over him. He rushed out of his room and pointed a dagger at Umar's throat.

"I'm here why don't you talk to me directly?"

Umar chuckled "You are still a boy. A stupid, naive little boy. This matter should only be discussed among adults. Now put that dagger away before you get hurt."  
"I don't think so"

"You got a lot of nerve kid you know that? Better watch it. Might not end well for you one day."

Gunther was shocked and couldn't say anything, Freya was furious. She grabbed the dagger out of his hand and slapped him across the face.

"Bjorn what is wrong with you? Get back to your room. This is not how we raised you."

Bjorn ignored her and got in Umar's face.

"If you have something to say you can say it to me. Amirah and I love each other and nothing you say will change that. If I have to kill you to get you out of the way, so be it..."

"I'd love to see you try," said Umar with a smirk on his face.

"Mom? Dad? You're going along with this? What about what I want? What about what she wants?"

Umar interjected "you are just children. You don't know what you want. When you get older you will see what I mean. Think of your family. It's better for you if you marry a Nord girl and carry on your people's bloodline and history."

"Whatever makes our son happy is fine with us," said Gunther.

"Then let some other Redguard girl breed herself out of existence with him! It won't be my daughter," he then looked at Freya and Gunther with disgust. "You should be ashamed of yourselves. No sense of honor or tradition".

"You made your point. Now I think it's about time you were on your way" Freya demanded.

"Very well. I think you and your son get the message now."

As he was walking out he stopped and turned around, "There is something I must warn you about. The dominion: they are operating here in Hammerfell in secret. They are sending bandits to do their dirty work and to go after the fugitives of the Thalmor. It's hard to recognize them as Dominion agents since many of them are not Altmer. If I can offer you protection I will but I can't make any promises."

"We'll do just fine on our own," said Gunther, "But thanks for the warning".

Bjorn didn't even hear that warning. He was too heartbroken about the previous conversation. He had to find a way to still see Amirah despite what Umar wanted. But how? Umar's house was heavily guarded. He'd be easily spotted if he tried to sneak in. Maybe Amirah could sneak out to see him instead, he thought. But how would he even contact her?

Bjorn was angry and frustrated. There was no easy solution. He couldn't imagine things getting any worse than this. But unfortunately for him, things would get much worse in ways he never could have expected.

He awoke a couple of nights later to hear laughing coming from outside his bedroom window. There was something very sinister about this laugh. Whatever the joke was, Bjorn knew he would not find it funny. Before Bjorn could even begin to investigate, he was startled by the sound of glass breaking.

Bjorn's parents readied their weapons. Gunther rushed into Bjorn's room which was right next to theirs.

"Get to the cellar, now!" He Demanded.

"But father, I want to go with you and mother! If there's danger, I want to fight too! I want to defend our home!"

"Did you hear me boy?" Gunther was getting impatient, "you go back to the cellar now and don't come back until we tell you it is safe!"

Freya agreed with Gunther, "Do as your father asks Bjorn. We will come and get you when it is safe."

"Yes mother," Bjorn respected his parent's wishes although he did not like the idea.

Freya kissed Bjorn on the forehead before he ran to the cellar. Gunther and Freya then continued into the room where they heard the glass break to discovered that a group of three armed people had broken into their home. The windows were shattered and they had kicked the front door down. The room was dark, it was impossible to make out the faces until one mysterious creature who appeared to be the leader of the group stepped forward into the light. He was laughing with the same demonic laugh Bjorn had heard moments earlier. He was one of the Khajiit, the cat people of Elsweyr, though he looked more menacing than the ones they had usually encountered. His face was covered in scars, and he wore an eye patch on his right eye.

"Greetings, I am Zalam-dar," he introduced himself, "these ones are my loyal companions. They are called Margaret and Fenrir. Margaret can also be called Hagraven."

Fenrir was a handsome looking tall Nord with long, dark brown hair and a scruffy beard who wore armor made from a sabre cat, and used a Warhammer made from the bones of a mammoth he had slain. Margaret was a young Breton woman with messy dark brown curly hair. She wore ragged clothes and had a necklace made of severed ears and other souvenirs from the many "adventures" she had been on. Her nickname "Hagraven" was fitting because of her sharp teeth that she filed into razor blades and the long brass fingernails attached to her gloves. "What do you want cat? What are you and your thugs doing in our home?" Gunther demanded to know. The cat laughed, "Ha! These ones did not think they could escape the Dominion so easily did they? The Dominion always finds ways to root out their enemies. These ones have been a thorn in the Dominion's side for too long."

Gunther looked over at Fenrir with disgust.

"Hmph! How can a fellow Nord be a pawn of the Dominion? Don't you have any honor?"

Fenrir chuckled "Coin is good no matter who it comes from. Honor is a fool's virtue."

"I'm warning you, cat: we are no stranger to battle and if you plan on trying to hurt us, it won't go the way you think it will" said Freya, "so leave here now before I cut your whiskers off freak!"

"Ha! Well gang these ones want to do it the hard way. Attack!"

And so the fight was on. The two of them fought off Zalam-dar and his thugs for as long as they could but soon realized that they were outmatched. Gunther Was blocking the blows of Fenrir's warhammer with his battle-ax though he was finding it hard to focus with Margaret clawing into his back. Freya was taking on Zalam-dar with her longsword and shield. . She knocked him down and was ready to finish him off when she noticed Gunther was in trouble.

Margaret had jumped on Gunther and had started biting him and clawing into his chest. Before Freya could help him, Margaret bit deep into Gunther's jugular, killing him within seconds. Freya was so full of rage, she forgot about her opponent and rushed towards Margaret letting out a loud battle cry. Margaret laughed at Freya as she charged at her. Zalam-dar grabbed Freya from behind when she wasn't looking and plunged his sword into her heart. Zalam-dar pulled his blade out of her, and she joined her husband lying dead on the ground.

"Ah! My, oh my! What a mess these ones left!" said Zalam-dar looking around the room, "Well gang take what you can get, and then we'll hit the tavern. Zalam-dar could really use a bottle of mead right now"

"Ah yes! Can't go wrong with a little mead! HA!" Margaret chuckled.

"Boss," said Fenrir while looking through one of the shelves, "Looks like we got some mead right here, no need to hit the tavern, we got it for free! Ha-ha! Can't beat that!"

Zalam-dar turned around to look at Fenrir who was now holding two bottles of mead in his hands.

"Ha! Very nice indeed! Zalam-dar likes that very much!"

Margaret went and sliced an ear off of both Freya and Gunther. She was giggling as she did it. The other two looked at her as if her methods were too extreme for them. Not paying them any mind she attached the ears to her necklace.

"Oh yes, can't go anywhere without my goodies can we?" laughed Margaret.

Zalam-dar stopped for a minute. He began to sniff and look around. He could sense they were not alone.

"Zalam-dar can smell another one. A young one! Oh where could this young one be?"

Bjorn had been looking through the cracks in the floor from the cellar the whole time. He had watched his parents die right in front of his eyes and was now in a state of shock. He couldn't move. His parents, who he thought were immortal and indestructible were now lying on the ground, lifeless. Just like that, they were gone. His brain couldn't process it. He couldn't feel anger or sadness, he was just completely numb. It took him a minute to realize the bandits had made their way to the cellar, and Zalam-dar had been looking right at him, talking to him for the past thirty seconds.

"Hey, this one deaf? Zalam-dar asked, "who are you, young one'?"

Bjorn did not reply. He just stared at him, blankly, emotionless, as if he were in a trance.

"This one has brain damage? Did this one not learn to speak when others speak to him?"

"Yeah," laughed Margaret "Stupid little boy!"

"I say we kill him, boss, just get it over with," said Fenrir, "Who cares who he is?"

"Quiet, Fenrir!" Zalam-dar snapped at him, "I would like to hear this one speak! My name is Zalam-dar, my companion's names are Fenrir and Margaret, but Margaret prefers the name 'Hagraven'. So I ask again: who are you, young one?"

"I'm…Bjorn….." He finally said.

In one instant everything that has happened finally kicked in, Bjorn looked at Zalam-dar as if he had awoken from a deep sleep. He started to see that dragon again in his mind's eye. An overwhelming rage was building up in the young boy and Zalam-dar could see it. He pulled out his dagger and pointed it at them.

"I'm Bjorn," he said, "and if you are going to kill me, you better damn well do it now."

Zalam-dar and his thugs laughed.

"Ha! This one thinks he can fight me! What will this one do? Is that a toy dagger? Maybe this one should get a wooden sword instead! "

The bandits kept laughing.

"I told you, boss," said Fenrir, "The little shit isn't worth it. Just kill him and be done with it."

"No, no, no. Zalam-dar likes a challenge. Killing this one is too easy. Let us leave friends. We shall let this one clean up the mess."

They turned and began to walk away until Bjorn called out behind them.

"You will regret this!"

Zalam-dar and his gang stopped and began to slowly turn around.

"This one has a big mouth doesn't he?"

"You heard me, cat. You will regret letting me live."

"And why is that young one?" Zalam-dar stepped closer to him. Bjorn still had his dagger out but began to back away.

"Because when I get older, I will kill you all! I'll kill all of you vermin and your Thalmor puppet masters! Mark my words!"

Zalam-dar stepped closer to him; Bjorn continued to back away slowly until he could not back up any further. Zalam-dar was now towering over him looking down at him like a large black cloud in the sky hovering over a small village.

"Oh, Zalam-dar is counting on it!"

Zalam-dar kneeled down and yanked the dagger out of Bjorn's hands and then looked him right in the eyes.

"Zalam-dar is counting on it, and he's looking forward to it!"

The bandits left. The anger had now left Bjorn for the time being, and it had been replaced with an unbearable feeling of grief. He enjoyed the anger more. The anger gave him ambition, a reason to keep going: his strive for vengeance. Grief just wore him down. It made him feel powerless and defeated.

Bjorn couldn't stay in the house any longer, it was too overwhelming. He sat out on the front porch to try to get himself together. He sat out there contemplating throughout most of the night until he eventually fell asleep without realizing it. When the afternoon came he was awoken by an old orc warrior he had never seen before.

"Get up kid!"

Bjorn slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the strange character that approached him.

"What happened here?

Bjorn did not speak. The old orc grabbed him by the arm.

"You hear me kid?" his tone was now slightly more aggressive, "I asked you what happened here!"

"I don't even know." He finally said

"You don't know?" said the orc, he looked around at the glass shattered on the ground and the broken windows and busted down door, "Something obviously happened here"

"It was my fault," he said.

"What was?"

"It was me. I shouldn't have listened to them. I should have went with them. I could have helped them."

"Who? What are you …" The orc walked past Bjorn and stepped inside the house to see Gunther and Freya lying on the ground in a pool of their own blood. He looked back at the young boy too shocked to know what to say.

"Kid, who are those people in there?"

Bjorn didn't answer. The orc started to shake him.

"Who are they, kid? Are they your parents?"

Bjorn nodded.

"Who did this?"

"It was…one of those cats."

"Cats? A Khajiit you mean?"

"Yeah. And a Nord. There was also a Breton woman...with claws and fangs like one of those hagravens I heard stories about. It was terrifying. I don't even want to think of it. "

"You know where they are now?"

Bjorn was staring blankly off into the distance. He did not make eye contact.

"No, but it doesn't matter now, does it?" said Bjorn, "I've already failed my parents."

The Orc looked at the boy and felt saddened by the pain in his eyes.

"I have to do something to help this boy," he thought, "I can't just leave him like this.""So where will you stay now?" He finally asked.

"I don't know."

"No other relatives you can stay with?"

"No. Well, I mean, yes. But they are far from Hammerfell. It's been years since I've seen them. I doubt they'd even remember me now. "

The Orc rubbed his chin and thought for a moment until he finally spoke again.

"You can stay with me."

Bjorn looked up, surprised.

"Stay with you? But where?"

"In my stronghold"

"Your…stronghold?"

"Yeah. I'm chief Kurdan of the Logh Goran stronghold. It's not too far from here. We'll take you in. You can live as one of us"

"But…I'm not an orc…"

"It doesn't matter what race you were born as, being an Orc is a way of life," explained Kurdan, "We'll teach you to live by the code of Malacath and we'll train you to be a fine warrior so you can protect yourself and others."

"I want revenge," Bjorn said, "can you help me kill the bastards who did this?"

Kurdan hesitated for a moment and then spoke, "I can teach you to fight," he explained, "what you do with that knowledge is your decision. But I do not encourage the path of vengeance. If you want to confront these men, do it to protect others, not out of hatred and blood lust."

Bjorn raised his eyebrow and looked at Kurdan as if he were from another planet.

"You don't seem like most Orcs I've heard about."

"I am different from many of them. Most are eager for a fight. They enjoy a battle as if it were a sport. But I take no pleasure in killing. I do it only when necessary."

Bjorn was no longer paying attention. He said nothing. He was looking down at his hands. Kurdan pored him over like a concerned parent.

"My mother told me all about Malacath and the Orcs," he finally said, trying to hold back his tears.

Kurdan kneeled down and put his hand on Bjorn's shoulder, "Listen, boy, There is nothing you can do for her now. Do you understand?"

Bjorn did not respond. He looked as if he were about to go back into that same trance he was in before.

"Hey! "Kurdan snapped his finger in front of Bjorn's face to get his attention. Bjorn looked up at him.

"You have to be strong and keep going: For yourself and for their honor," said Kurdan, "There are other scoundrels out there just like the ones who killed your parents. If we let them kill our spirits and don't stand up against them, they'll continue to hurt others. Do you understand?"

Bjorn nodded. Kurdan patted him on the back.

"So what you say, friend? Will you join us at our stronghold?"

"Well, I guess my life here is over," said Bjorn, "I might as well come with you."

"Glad to hear it kid. Gather whatever belongings are important to you and we'll be on our way. We'll make sure your parents receive a proper burial before we leave. By the way, what should I call you?"

"Call me Bjorn," he said, "Bjorn the Swordsmith."


	2. Nord Blood-Kin

**Notes on this chapter: Bjorn is now accepted as blood-kin on the Orc stronghold Logh Goran in the Dragontail Mountains of Hammerfell. Chief Kurdan teaches him how to be a better warrior. Bjorn is planning his revenge on Zalam-dar, Margaret, Fenrir, and the Thalmor. Some new characters are introduced in this chapter and Bjorn also reunites with some characters from the previous chapter as well. As a bonus, some of my canon characters from other Elder Scrolls games are mentioned at times though they take no direct part in the story.**

In many ways, Bjorn had died that day along with his parents. His entire story, his sense of self, and everything else that made up his identity was swept away in an instant. He had been reborn again as someone new, someone without a past and with an uncertain future. His memories about home started to feel like they belonged to another, and they were slowly starting to fade away. Bjorn did not know who this new person would become or what his destiny would be. Would he live a life full of rage and obsessed with revenge? Or would he dedicate his life to helping others and protecting them from other monsters like the Thalmor and Zalam-dar? Which path he'd choose was yet to be determined.

Despite his grief, Bjorn found comfort in thinking about Amirah. He hoped he would one day see her again. She was the only person still alive that he cared about. He dreamed of one day marrying her and starting a family.

Amirah, however, wasn't really the settling down type. Bjorn was aware of this. She wanted to be a traveling bard and mercenary, as she told him many times.

"It doesn't have to be marriage," he thought, "We could adventure together instead and see the wonders Tamriel has to offer. We could perform music and poetry together in inns all over the different provinces. Or we could travel to Akavir and look for the Nerervarine. It doesn't matter what we do as long as we're together. "

Bjorn then started to feel sad and discouraged.

"But what if I end up losing her too? I have to make sure that doesn't happen. I have to kill that cat, that freaky hagraven woman, and that sorry excuse of a Nord before they harm anyone else I care about!"

The only relics Bjorn had of his old life was his mother's lute that he sometimes kept strapped to his back when he wasn't playing it and his father's hammer he'd use when working with the wise woman at the forge. He had long, dirty blonde hair that went down to his shoulders and a fierce look on his face that signaled he was willing to take on any challengers. He wore light armor made of animal pelts and a bandana on his head that he tied into a headband. He had a strong build like his father, all that time working at the forge was starting to pay off for him.

To the younger orcs, he seemed like some sort of strange creature. They had not come across many Nords during their time in Hammerfell and they had not heard of any that were quite like him. Some of them began to feel threatened by his presence.

Since the dawn of their existence, the Orcs had been cursed by the Daedric Lord Boethiah to forever be outcasts and wanderers. They were scorned by the other races on Nirn. The only way they had survived all these years was by sticking together and welcoming an outsider into their community felt like a threat to their security.

Kurdan, however, was very happy to have Bjorn as a member of his stronghold. He spent long hours training him and viewed him as a son.

The chief wanted Orcs to integrate more into society and to improve their image to other races. He'd frequently go out of his way to trade with elves and humans in the nearby settlements. He believed having a human as blood kin could be a large step in moving his people forward. If the public saw what a fine young man Bjorn had become living by the code of Malacath, they might start to question their current beliefs and prejudices about the Orcish people.

One of Kurdan's heroes was Malgash, an Orc warrior from the second era. History remembered him as "The Vestige".

Malgash grew up on a stronghold in Orsinium and had a pretty normal childhood for an Orc. While he felt close to the others in his tribe, something inside him always told him his destiny was elsewhere.

Malgash decided to go out and wander Tamriel in search of his purpose. On his journey, he came across a yellow lab who looked underfed and had a splinter in his paw. Malgash pulled the splinter out of the dog's paw and caught a fish for him to eat. Malgash then knew what his purpose was: to help others like he helped that dog.

He decided he would travel the world using his skills as a warrior to protect the vulnerable from evil. The dog began following him around on his adventures and so Malgash adopted it as his own. He named it "Splinter"

"That was his legacy. Putting the needs of others before his own," Kurdan told Bjorn, "and I hope I can teach you to do the same."

"I'm not doing anything for others until after I kill who I need to kill. "

"I know very well what you seek! But you can't let vengeance and anger consume you! When you fight these people, you must come to battle from a noble and pure place. You can't kill them out of hatred, or for your enjoyment. It must be viewed as a sacrifice for the greater good. By getting rid of them, you are making Nirn safer for others. But you should never enjoy doing it, and it should always be the last option."

"How do I not have hatred in my heart after what they did?"

"It takes practice, Bjorn. Discipline. I know it's hard. But hatred will only hurt you in the end. "

"Or hurt them."-

"Don't let what they did to your family destroy who you are. If you kill for pleasure, or out of spite or for vengeance, you're one step away from becoming just like them. Honor your parent's legacy by staying true to the values they taught you and taking their lessons with you wherever you go."

"Fine, fine," said Bjorn, dismissively.

"There's another thing I must tell you," Kurdan continued, "never be the first to draw your sword."

"What? Are you serious?" Bjorn did not like this advice, "No way! I must slay them before they have a chance. I want to win my fights at all costs!"

"It is better to die honorably than to live with dishonor," Kurdan insisted, "Once you draw your sword, the time for discourse has ended. Your mother was a Bard, right? She would have known better than anyone that most conflict can be solved with words. Never fight for your ego or to prove a point. Only fight if you absolutely have to. Violence is always a last resort."

"Fine. Whatever."

"Also if someone surrenders, accept their surrender. Never kill a man or woman when they are on their knees."

"That's rubbish!" Bjorn couldn't stand listening to this anymore, "Some people don't deserve mercy. I want to cause suffering to those who make others suffer! The people who killed my parents and others like them deserve no mercy!"

"They do indeed!" Kurdan argued, "They deserve that, and a chance for redemption."

"No!" so Bjorn firmly, "They don't!"

"What separates you from them then? You have to be better than them. You have to be bigger than them."

"But they are monsters!"

"Yes! But in fighting monsters, you have to be careful that you do not become a monster yourself! That is why it is important that you put yourself above them and not let them change who you are!"

Kurdan had many talks like this with Bjorn. He wanted him to be strong mentally and spiritually as well as physically.

The rest of the tribe were becoming concerned that Kurdan was spending more time with this young Nord than his fellow Orcs on the stronghold. There was one Orc in particular who resented Bjorn and the Chief's apparent favoritism towards him. He was a brute named Grishnákh. One day, Grishnákh along with a group of his friends decided to confront Bjorn. They found him sitting on a rock outside the stronghold, playing his mother's lute.

"Tell me freak: what kind of warrior plays the lute?"

Bjorn looked up at Grishnákh with a smug look on his face, "Nords have a long history of being warrior poets. Maybe you should ask one of your boyfriends about it. They look at least half as intelligent as you."

"You got some nerve talking to me that way," said Grishnákh, clenching his fists, "You think this is your stronghold now? Maybe someone should teach you some respect."

"So then hit me and be done with it."

Grishnákh grabbed the lute out of Bjorn's hand. Bjorn got up and confronted the Orc.

"Give it back. Now." He demanded.

"Come and take it from me."

Bjorn tried to grab it from him, but Grishnákh lifted it into the air so he couldn't reach it. The orc and his friends laughed. Bjorn was now furious. He grabbed Grishnákh's other arm and twisted it back.

"Ow!" The Orc cried out.

Bjorn grabbed the lute out of Grishnákh's other hand.

"By Malacath! That hurt!"

Grishnákh looked like he was ready to tackle Bjorn. Bjorn placed the lute down in a safe spot in case he'd follow through. And he did.

"Aaargh!" The Orc cried out as he charged toward the young boy.

Bjorn countered Grishnákh's attack and threw him to the ground. Grishnákh slowly started to get up and appeared a bit disoriented. His friends looked as though they were ready to back him up, but he put out his hands to stop them.

"You fight well Nord. I guess your people's reputation as great warriors is well deserved."

"Your chief has taught me well," said Bjorn with a sense of humbleness," I also learned a thing or two from my parents. They were both Great War veterans."

"I see. Well, wherever your skills come from you've earned my respect."

"You've earned mine as well. It is wise for a warrior to know when he is outmatched. I admire you for having the courage to face that."

"Ha! Outmatched? Don't kid yourself. I wasn't even trying! We'll have to go for another round some time, then we'll see who's outmatched!"

"Challenge accepted," said Bjorn with a smile on his face.

As they grew older Grishnákh and Bjorn became best of friends. Bjorn always wished to have a sibling growing up and he finally felt like he found a brother in Grishnákh.

Despite his difficulties fitting in at the beginning, Bjorn began to feel right at home at Logh Ghoran. While Bjorn was born a Nord, he started to feel like he was an Orc at heart.

Bjorn was never super religious. In fact, after losing his parents he was through with the Nine Divines all together. The Orc religion appealed to him more. He became a devout follower of Malacath.

The code of Malacath made sense to him. It was simple: don't steal, don't kill, don't attack people for no reason. If the rest of Nirn could limit itself to such a basic set of laws, perhaps there would be peace.

Living on the stronghold, Bjorn was taught two conflicting philosophies. While Kurdan taught Bjorn to control his anger, Grishnákh encouraged him to embrace it. They also had opposing views when it came to how Orcs should relate to the outside world.

Grishnákh accused Kurdan of "apologizing for Orcs." He didn't like how Kurdan acted as if the Orcs had to "prove" themselves to other races and show they weren't savages.

"We should go back to our days of glory!" Grishnákh would say," we should wage war! We should conquer Tamriel and lands far from Tamriel! We'll make people fear us! Then they'll respect us!"

Kurdan feared that Grishnákh was a bad influence on Bjorn. The two of them had a habit of getting into trouble. They would often sneak out to local taverns and get into bar fights, or get involved in some other kind of mischief.

Grishnákh also went to taverns to try to pick up women, but Bjorn was still hung up on Amirah. No one compared to her. He was disappointed that he hadn't run into her after all this time despite her being a local to the area.

He had asked around about her and found out she had been traveling to other countries and working as an Ali'kr mercenary since the age of 16. This hurt him. At first, he thought she hadn't contacted him because of her father, but that wasn't the reason. She had made her own life and broke away from Umar yet she never tried to contact him.

"She must not love me anymore. I guess what we had wasn't real after all," Bjorn thought to himself , "I hoped I at least had one person left from my former life who cared about me. I was wrong. I don't even have her. I have nothing."

While Bjorn and Grishnákh often looked for trouble, it sometimes found them even when they weren't looking for it. One night, the two of them went to a tavern in Dragonstar they frequently visited called the Caravan Company Depot. The inn had been around since the Second Era and it was believed that Malgash visited it when he traveled through the area. Usually, the place was peaceful, but on this night, one patron was being very disruptive.

The patron was a noble from High Rock. He was as drunk as a Nord in a mead hall. He was shouting out profanities to people, claiming he could get away with anything because of his wealth and family name. Bjorn and Grishnákh ignored him until he called out to Bjorn.

"Well, would you look at this spectacle. Were you born in the wild or something? Why are you dressed like that?"

Grishnákh's blood was boiling, "you show my friend some respect!" He growled at him.

Bjorn just laughed at the man's comment and held Grishnákh back, "if you're trying to get a rise out of me, little man, you'll have to do better than that."

"Hah! I remember you now! You're the son of those blacksmiths, aren't you? Or should I say 'dead blacksmiths'," The nobleman chuckled and drank more of his wine and then studied Bjorn and Grishnákh with his eyes, "A commoner who hangs around with an Orc! Ha! That figures. I suppose no one would expect any better of you!"

Now Bjorn was angry. This man had crossed the line.

"My parents were honorable people! They risked their lives fighting in the Great War. They fought so people like you and I could be free and wouldn't have to suffer under Dominion rule. I demand you show them respect!"

"The Dominion won the war did they not? So what purpose did they serve exactly? They are just some dead commoners. History doesn't remember dead commoners. They did craft me this fine dwarven sword though," he unsheathed his sword to display it to them, "so I suppose in that sense they served a purpose."

Bjorn once again saw that black dragon in his mind's eye and pulled out his sword and put it to the nobleman's throat. The tavern grew silent.

The nobleman's bodyguards rushed towards Bjorn but Grishnákh bested and killed both of them before they could reach him. One of their heads went flying off, almost hitting one of the serving girls from across the room.

"You better take that back, now!" Bjorn demanded.

The nobleman laughed arrogantly, "young man, you lay a finger on me and every lord in High Rock will put a bounty on your head!"

"Who says they'll find out about it?" Bjorn pressed his sword closer to the nobleman's throat, "none of you will say anything will you?" he looked around the room with a threatening stare.

The rest of the tavern looked frightened. They wanted no part in this quarrel. The answer to his question was obviously "no".

"Didn't think so," said Bjorn with a smirk on his face, " maybe after I'm done with you I'll carve your body into little pieces and feed you to the animals in the wild. There will be nothing left of you. No one in High Rock will ever know what happened to you. If you have so much protection in High Rock, then perhaps you should have stayed there."

The nobleman was terrified, yet still tried to stand his ground," have you no respect for your betters?"

"You are not my better," Bjorn cut the nobleman's cheek slowly with his blade and it started to draw blood, "you are nothing. My parents were worth ten thousand of you elitist swine. It's your kind that sits in your palaces drinking wine while people like my parents fight your wars for you. I have no respect for you. I loathe you. If I go back to Skyrim, I'll kill every Empire and Thalmor loving nobleman with a smile on my face. Afterward, maybe I'll take a trip to High Rock and visit your family as well. Now I ask you again to take back what you said about my parents!"

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry."

"You're going to accept that? He's obviously not sorry, he's just trying to save his own hide," Grishnákh interjected.

Bjorn then heard Kurdan's voice in his head, "there is no honor in killing this man, let him live!"

Bjorn had drawn his sword first, Kurdan wouldn't have approved of that. He wouldn't have approved of him being so quick to anger either or not showing this man mercy.

Bjorn then could hear his mother's voice telling him "this is not how we raised you!"

Bjorn sheathed his sword, "Apology accepted. Next time remember to watch your tongue."

"What?!" Grishnákh was disappointed, "you're letting it slide now?"

"If you want him dead so badly, then kill him yourself."

Grishnákh didn't have a response to that. Bjorn then turned back to the nobleman.

"I'd like you to give me that dwarven sword."

"What? Why? How will I protect myself?"

"That's not my problem. My parents and I crafted that sword and anyone who disrespects us is not worthy of wielding it."

"Fine, as you wish. It's not worth my life," the nobleman handed him the sword to him.

"Now be on your way, people have had enough of your attitude here. If I ever see you in this tavern again, I won't be happy."

"Ok, ok. I'll head out now!"

"One more thing."

"Yes?" The nobleman was heading out and turned around to look at Bjorn.

"What's your name?"

The nobleman hesitated for a moment and then said, "My name is Louis Lariat."

"I'm Bjorn. And if that is truly your name I will know who to blame if some mercenaries from High Rock come looking for me. Remember that."

The nobleman left the tavern. Grishnákh was frustrated with Bjorn.

"We killed his bodyguards! Do you really think he's going to let that slide? You shouldn't have let him leave!"

"You killed his bodyguards, Grishnákh and it was in fair combat, "Bjorn corrected him, "What was I to do? Murder him there? Challenge him to a duel? He wasn't a warrior, just a drunken coward. That little worm isn't going to tell anyone anything if he even makes it to High Rock in one piece that is."

While Bjorn and Grishnákh hoped to keep this incident a secret from the rest of the stronghold, word traveled fast and it eventually got back to Kurdan. Grishnákh was banned from the stronghold as punishment while Bjorn was given only a warning. Grishnákh resented Bjorn for this but knew that it wasn't his decision or fault. Kurdan was the one he loathed, Bjorn was still his brother.

Grishnákh wasn't sure what he'd do now. He thought of meeting up with his sister Mazoga. She had left for Cyrodil a few years ago to join the Imperial Legion. He also thought of staying in Hammerfell for a while and taking up bounty hunting. The latter appealed to him more, so he decided to do that.

About a month or two later Grishnákh summoned Bjorn back to the Caravan Company Depot. He had important news for him.

"I've found her! I've found that woman you were looking for!"

Bjorn's face lit up, "Amirah! You were able to get in contact with her?"

"What? No! Not her! Do I look like a bloody matchmaker to you? You're on your own with that! By Malacath, it's been six years! Get over her already! I'm talking about the woman who took part in the murder of your parents. You can finally get your revenge. Well, at least on one of them. She'll probably know where the other two knuckleheads are too. I'm sure you can find ways to get it out of her."

"You mean Hagraven," Bjorn now had a more solemn look on his face and an ominous tone in his voice, "You are sure it's her?"

"Well, no not necessarily. I mean it could be one of the millions of other women who walk around with razor-sharp teeth and long brass fingernails acting like a maniac," Grishnákh was getting snarky with him, "Of course it's her you knucklehead! How many other people out there fit her description?"

"Tell me what you know," Bjorn wanted to get straight to the point and had little interest in Grishnákh's smart-aleck attitude.

"She's earning her name as a bounty hunter! People see her as a hero! They call her 'Hagraven the Fearless!' She cuts the ears off of the bounties she kills and trades them in for coin. Do you need any more convincing that it's her?"

"Guess she doesn't put them on her necklace anymore then," Bjorn thought to himself.

"Okay, so it's her. You convinced me," Bjorn said to Grishnákh, "Now where do I find her? Where is she?"

"She's at a shrine to Namira west of here. She left not too long before you got here, so you are just in time."

"What? She was here? In this inn?"

"Yes. And she took the bounty poster with her. There have been Namira cultists in the area kidnapping and eating people and she went to go take care of them."

"And you let her leave?"

"Yes. I figured you'd want her all to yourself. Also, it's better you fight her out there than in here. Don't want another incident and for you to get banned this time. Of course, you're the chief's favorite. Doesn't seem like you can do any wrong"

"I hope you don't still resent me for that. You know I stood up for you and begged him to let you stay."

"You could have killed him and taken over as chief. Better yet I should have. But that's all behind us now."

Bjorn wasn't sure what to say to that, "Ok I'll go catch up with her then. Kurdan thinks I need more training before I go out there and…"

"Oh, I don't care what Kurdan says! Don't ever speak that name in my presence. You're beyond ready. You should kill him and become chief already! And then you can welcome me back to Logh Goran!"

"I can't be chief, Grishnákh, I'm not an Orc."

"Oh don't give me that. Your more of an Orc than he ever was. The others would vouch for you on that too."

"I appreciate you saying that but I'm not killing Kurdan and I have no interest in being chief."

"Suit yourself."

"I'll head out. Thank you for finding Hagraven for me. It's time I go finish my business with her."

"Hey, you're helping me out too! She's been taking all the good bounties and leaving none for me. If you kill her, you'll get your revenge and you eliminate my competition. It's a win-win for both of us."

Bjorn found Margaret at the shrine. All eight Namira cultists were dead. She was cutting the ears off of her slain foes and putting them into a pouch.

She looked just as she did when he last saw her six years ago. She was around the age of 26 now. Despite her matted hair and razor-sharp teeth, Margaret was very pretty. If she properly groomed herself, she would have had many suitors. But Margaret chose to be dirty. She chose to look unsettling. She was comfortable that way and she didn't care what anyone else thought about it.

Bjorn walked up to her and drew his sword. He couldn't hold back his rage. She knew he was there but continued to slice the ears off and put them in her pouch without even looking up at him.

"I'd put that sword away if I were you. You don't want to end up like these fine gentleman do you?"

"Hello, Margaret! Remember me? I'm Bjorn. We met six years ago when you and your friends killed my parents. "

"Oh! You silly man! I've killed many people over the years, you'll have to be more specific than that!."

"You bit into my father's neck like a wretched vampire! And you laughed about it afterward."

"Did I? I'm afraid that doesn't ring a bell," Margaret closed up her pouch, put her dagger away and finally looked up at him, "Maybe because I've killed many people that way."

"There's no need for any more specifics. I remember and that's what counts. You die here today freak! Now at least make it interesting and fight back. I enjoy a good challenge."

"Oh, look at you! Such a big man! Do you want to fight a little woman like me? Such a big man indeed!"

Margaret paused for a moment and studied Bjorn. Finally, she recognized him.

"Oh yes. I remember you. And I remember your parents too. You're just as dumb as you've always been aren't you?"

"The only dumb thing I did was let you live long enough to murder my parents."

"Murder? Wow you really are dense, aren't you? We killed your parents because they were trying to kill us! We offered them a chance to come quietly and they chose to fight us instead. It is not murder if they lost to us in battle. We were just better fighters, you see"

"They didn't go with you because you were puppets of the Thalmor! They were proud Nords who didn't bow down to tyranny! Of course, they wouldn't go quietly!"

"Or maybe they were enemies of the state, and we were bringing them to justice. Did you ever think of it that way? It depends what side you look at it from, silly boy."

"You kept their ears as souvenirs!"

"I always keep souvenirs from my battles little boy, just like a hunter who mounts a bear's head on his wall. Very few would take pride in killing a rabbit or a deer in the same way, because there's no challenge in that. But to kill someone or something after a long fight with them always feels worthy of a reward. Now, of course, I don't keep the ears as much these days, since I usually trade them for gold. But I always like to keep some sort of memorabilia with me."

"There is no honor in that."

"I'm sure you'd keep my teeth as a souvenir if you killed me or Zalam-dar's eyepatch or tail if you killed him. And why is that? Because you'd be proud! You would be avenging your family, I was protecting mine. We really are no different, you see.."

Bjorn looked perplexed, "your family?"

"Zalam-dar was the only parent I knew when I was a little girl. Do you think you had it rough? You may have lost your parents, but I never even had them to begin with. Zalam-dar took me in and raised me as his own. And I wasn't the only one. There were many children of Zalam-dar and there are still many today."

"What? Children of Zalam-dar?"

"Yes. Children of Zalam-dar. But that life is behind me now. I realized that they were no true family. Zalam-dar was just using me as he used the others."

"And now you're Hagraven the Fearless, the famous bounty hunter," said Bjorn, mocking her.

"That's me," Margaret chuckled, "Even a woman like me needs to earn a living, you see. And my child, yes my child, I must take care of him too.."

"A..child?" Bjorn couldn't wrap his head around it: for years he saw this woman as a monster while someone else loved her as their mother.

"Yes, a child! You can hear, can't you? I didn't think I cut your ears off just yet."

"I feel pity for him, he has such a disgusting mother!"

"Easy there, Nord!" Margaret was about to reach for one of the throwing knives that were attached to her belt. Bjorn ignored that and kept railing at her.

"there are some who see you as a hero now, but you're not! I know what you really are!"

"Oh do you, silly boy? Typical. You think the world is full of saints and sinners and nothing in between. Are you really that naive? Most so-called heroes have had blood on their hands. Most so-called villains are other people's heroes."

As much as Bjorn despised this woman he had to know why she took part in what happened. He had to know, just to get some sort of closure before he killed her.

"My parents were good people. Why did they deserve to die?" He asked her.

"Oh come on I explained this before. We didn't plan to kill them, we planned to take them to the Thalmor Embassy in Skyrim to be tried for treason. They chose death instead. If you want to know why they chose to die, you'd have to ask them yourself, but I'm afraid they are too dead to talk."

"Why would you ever work for the Thalmor?"

"I wasn't working for the Thalmor, you silly boy. I was working for Zalam-dar. Do you think I ever cared about that stupid war? I was fighting for Zalam-dar because he wanted a future for people like me: children who were left cold and abandoned in the streets with no one to look out for them. He was looking out for us, or so I thought he was."

"So you were too blinded by his brainwashing to know he was working for the Thalmor and now you want me to feel pity for you? Sod you! You took everything from me! You and your wretched companions ruined everything for me!"

"No, I knew he was paid by the Thalmor, you stupid boy! But he was no supporter of the Thalmor. He needed the money to build an army. He wanted to rule Tamriel and the rest of Nirn himself."

"For what? Why'd he want to rule?"

"Power! What else do people want to rule for? Seems like that's what it's always about isn't it, little boy?"

"So I'm guessing he told you stories of a paradise for orphans and other misfits like you when really he just wanted 'power' for himself."

"Oh, he wants to go further than that silly boy. He wants to transcend his mortal existence and become a daedric lord, like when Trinimac became Malacath. He wants to bring in a second Oblivion Crisis, only this time Bellona Magius,  
the great Heroine of Kvatch won't be around to stop it.."

"how could that vision of a future ever appeal to you?"

Margaret pondered Bjorn's question for a moment before she spoke, "I suppose at that point in my life I wanted to watch the world burn. I felt left behind. No one cared about me besides Zalam-dar and his other children. So I viewed it as a sort of revenge against everyone else that wasn't us. I was desperate to find anything that would give my life meaning.. Luckily I've grown up since then."

"And what about Zalam-dar? Was his reasoning for wanting a 'second oblivion crisis'?"

"He told us the current world had to be destroyed for a new one to begin. He believed that the people of Tamriel had lost their right to live with all the war, injustice and inequality they caused. Only those who were taught the philosophy of Zalam-dar would be fit to live in this new Age of Enlightenment."

"Age of enlightenment?" Bjorn would have laughed at the absurdity of that statement if it didn't terrify him.

"Yes, indeed. Age of Enlightenment. Silly right? I don't know why I didn't see it at the time. But the past is the past."

"You said you've always taken souvenirs from battles because you were proud. How could you be proud of killing my parents? They were good people."

"Because I was protecting my lover and the man I saw as my father. "

"Your lover… the Nord?"

"Yes, my dear Fenrir. We are still in love, him and I. He is the father of my child."

Bjorn was appalled by this but made no comment on it. He had other priorities.

".I know you won't tell me where Fenrir is, but where is Zalam-dar?"

"I don't know and I don't care. Me and my dearest Fenrir walked away from that cat once we saw through his lies. We have no idea what he's doing now and we haven't seen him since.."

"You walked away from it, yet you feel no remorse for killing my parents."

"Why should I? Like I said I was protecting the people I cared about. And your parents were no innocent victims. There was a war. They chose a side. No one is innocent in a war. No one besides civilians that is. And your parents were no civilians even if they tried to be. They were fugitives for a reason!"

"To oblivion with that! My parents were honest people and they were in the right to resist the Dominion! They were standing up to evil! We had to flee our homeland because of the Thalmor and a weak and dying emp..."

"Oh sod off to your homeland!" Margaret cut him off "Do you know how many of my brethren died when the Nords forced my people out of the Reach? To Oblivion with you Nords and your honor."

"My parents had nothing to do with that."

Margaret guffawed, "of course not. Such perfect and noble parents you had," she said in a mocking tone, "That's what the world is to a simple-minded boy like you: Good and bad, right and wrong, black and white! There's no grey to you at all!"

Bjorn was getting impatient to kill this woman, " enough of this! My parents…."

"my parents…my parents" she imitated him and continued to laugh hysterically, "my parents were so sweet and innocent."

"That's it! You die now!"

Bjorn charged at Margaret and started swinging his sword at her. She dodged his attacks and scratched him across the face with her claws. It left a scar from under his right eye all the way down to the lower right side of his chin.

Bjorn was bleeding and in pain but kept trying to hit her with his sword. Margaret continued to dodge his attacks, giggling as she did it.

Finally, Bjorn cut her right under her left shoulder. She cried out at first but then started to giggle again, "you silly boy! You'll pay for that!" She told him.

Margaret dodged Bjorn's next attack and then bit down on his right arm, which was his sword arm. Bjorn dropped his sword and cried out in pain as he started to bleed. She then threw a throwing knife at his left knee and he fell to the ground. Margaret stood over him looking down at him.

"I'd hate to leave you here to bleed out. That'd be cruel, even for a girl like me. I don't really want to kill you either, but I also can't heal you and let you live. Luckily I have a fourth option. I know these forests pretty well and I have a friend who can help me.."

Margaret whistled and in a less than a minute a giant spider appeared beside her.

"I'll let my eight-legged friend finish the job. This was fun, silly boy."

"Any souvenirs you'll be taking from me?" Bjorn was trying to make a morbid joke and to show her that he had no fear of death but he failed at both.

"No, I take no pride in killing a fool. " Margaret kneeled down beside him and started to stroke his face affectionately, "and I am not proud or happy about this. It actually saddens me that I can't just let you live. I can sense that you're a kindred spirit.."

Bjorn was dumbfounded. She was being sincere when she said that and he could tell. She was also talking in a calmer, more pleasant tone than before. It was as if she had become a totally different person in that moment.

"It's unfortunate things unfolded the way they did. I think you and I are actually very similar. We're more alike than you'd care to admit. "

"I'm nothing like you!" said Bjorn defensively.

"Keep telling yourself that," Maragret was now petting him on his crown as if he were a dog "I know what it's like to be forgotten and so do you. The world doesn't care about misfits like us. Anyway, it's been fun, but I know I can't let you live. If I did, then you'll never stop coming for me, Fenrir or my child. Oh tisk, tisk I'm afraid this is where we must part ways silly boy," she kissed him on the forehead and then turned to the spider, "okay buddy go get him!"

Margaret waved goodbye to Bjorn. She blew him another kiss and then wandered off. The spider shot a web onto Bjorn and then carried him to a nearby hole full of baby spiders. Bjorn was to be their meal for the next day. Perhaps he would bleed out after all. He wished Margaret had just killed him herself.

Very few things frightened Bjorn, but these spiders terrified him. He wasn't sure what was worse: bleeding to death or being eaten by baby spiders. It seemed like one or the other would be his fate, and a quick death wasn't an option for him.

"It'll all be over soon enough," he told himself, "then I will go to Sovngarde and see my parents again."

"Sovngarde is not ready for you yet, Bjorn. You still have much to do," he heard his mother's voice called out to him. He looked to his right and there she was, looking more alive than ever before. It did not feel like a dream and he could see her as clear as day.

"Mother!" Bjorn couldn't hold back his tears.

"Yes my dear son, it is I."

Bjorn looked around, "where's father?

"Oh you know him! He's always busy at the forge,"

Bjorn laughed, he was happy yet sad at the same time. He didn't know what to feel.

"I-I'm ready to go Sovngarde! I want to see you both again!"

"Now is not your time, my child. There is a destiny before you. Those dreams you've had of a black dragon are more than just dreams.."

"What do they mean? What are they trying to say?"

"It will make sense in the years to come. You still have plenty of time before then. Until then you must take care of yourself. Don't put yourself in harm's way because of your lust for vengeance. There is a bigger plan in store for you. One that will have an impact on all of Tamriel."

"But mom, I…"

"I'm afraid I must go my dearest son. Remember I love you and there are people alive who still care about you. "

"please don't go! Please don't go mother!" Bjorn was sobbing uncontrollably.

"I have to go Bjorn, I'm sorry. We will meet again when the time is right, I can't look out for you anymore, but she will. You're in her hands now" Freya pointed behind him.

Bjorn looked where she pointed and saw a young redguard woman dressed like an Alik'r warrior fighting off the spiders with her scimitars. She wore black leather armor with a long red cape and a black cowl and black bandana which covered her face. Her eyes were all you could see yet it was enough to reveal her beauty.

Bjorn wasn't sure what was going on. He turned back to Freya, hoping to get some more answers but she had disappeared.

Bjorn watched in awe as the Redguard woman stabbed the spider in its giant eyes, striking a killing blow to it. "A true daughter of Hammerfell", he thought "where did she learn to fight like that?"

Now she was fighting the smaller spiders, which seemed to be more of a challenge. She killed them off one by one: sometimes stabbing them, sometimes stomping on them and other times a combination of both. Eventually they were gone.

The Redguard woman walked over to Bjorn and took off her cowl and bandana.

"It's been a long time Bjorn. I don't see how you survived all this time without me."

Bjorn couldn't believe his eyes: It was Amirah! He could now see her long black frizzy hair that she was wearing down, her Nubian nose and that playful smirk she always had on her face. She looked more stunning than ever. She had grown into an elegant and strong young woman.

"Amirah, what are you doing here? Why haven't I heard from you in all this time?"

"I thought you were dead," tears started to run down her cheeks, "I heard what happened to your parents and I was devastated. They were like family to me too,"

"Amirah, I….I…" Bjorn had so many things he wanted to say but nothing came out.

"I wish you had contacted me. I had to find out you were alive from your friend Kurdan instead. And your other Orc friend led me to this shrine."

"Amirah, I can't even describe how happy I am to see you. .I'm just confused. What led you to Kurdan? What were you doing back here after all this time?"

"It's a long story Bjorn. For now we need to get you to a healer. I'll explain more once I know you're ok. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't, Amirah," he reached up and slowly wiped the tears off her face with his hand, "You'll never lose me."


End file.
